


Death ends all quarrels

by Hypatia_66



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death, THRUSH, Truce, compassion - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 19:14:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20120242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: LJ Short affair challenge. Prompts: muscle, return, whiteIllya's reactions to finding a body bring about a truce.





	Death ends all quarrels

A shadow passed over the sun. Illya looked up and saw vultures beginning to gather and circle overhead. He cast his eyes over the chaos of rocks and bushes in case some wretched creature had become trapped; and then saw him.

The man was dead. If his head was any indication of what had happened, he must have slipped and fallen headfirst to land on the rocks. Illya climbed down to see if he had any identification on him. He couldn’t have been there for long, that much was obvious. There was no sign that birds or other scavengers had got to him yet.

There was a wallet inside his jacket top. In it was an ID card: white with a distinctive bird logo. This must be the Thrush man who had been on his tail. Good – one down. But when he found photographs of a woman and several children, he caught his breath.

A Thrush man whose family would forever wonder where he was; who ought to be told.

Death ends all quarrels. Illya put the contents of the man’s pockets in his own pack and gathered rocks to pile over the body. He marked the cairn with the branch of a tree, and pulled out his map to mark its location.

It was getting dark when he started to climb back up to the path. The rocky terrain was too dangerous to negotiate at night; he’d need to find somewhere to shelter and it wasn’t the type of terrain that included caves. He climbed further up the slope, off the path, and gathered more stones, this time to make his own cairn.

He could get no signal from his communicator. He was on his own. The darkness was intense, the kind of darkness that brings with it the atavistic fears of Early Man: the fear that the light might never return; the fear of Death – the final darkness that ends life and love and laughter. Illya was not afraid, even of death, and he needed no lamp in the darkness; but the image of the dead man’s family troubled his thoughts and kept him awake. The rocky surface provided a far from comfortable resting place, but he nevertheless slept for a while and woke with the dawn.

The world was renewed; the first birds woke and called; colour began to return to the landscape as the sun rose. Illya stretched carefully, feeling each muscle complaining about its rough night, then he stiffened at the sound of voices calling a name. He watched from above as two men came into view, walking along the path looking from side to side, searching. They weren’t calling _his_ name; they must be Thrush agents looking for their colleague.

He rose from behind his cairn, scrambled down the hillside and followed them along the path, his gun at the ready but armed only with darts in the circumstances.

When he spoke, they whirled round, thinking to see their former companion but seeing their fair-headed prey, went for their weapons. “Don’t shoot,” Illya called. “I can tell you where his body is.”

They came up to him. “So, you killed him, Kuryakin, you murdering son of a bitch,” one snarled.

“No, I’m not responsible for his death,” said Illya gently. “Your friend had an accident. He slipped on the rocks and hit his head – you’ll see when you find him. I saw the vultures gathering and got to his body before they did. I buried him under the rocks back there.” Illya pointed back along the path.

They looked at him speechlessly. “I’ll show you on the map.” He slung his pack off his shoulder. “Here, you can have his belongings… I was going to take them back and try to get a message to his family.”

“Why would you do that?”

“He has small children. Look.”

They took the wallet and looked at the photographs and then at him. “Why should you care?”

“Will they be supported?”

“Yeah.”

It was Illya’s turn to be disbelieving, though he didn’t show it. “Well, you’ll be reporting his death… and you’ll make sure they are, won’t you?”

“He was my partner,” said one, suddenly. “I’ll tell them. I’ll make sure. Show us where he is on your map.”

The enmity between them temporarily in abeyance, they declared a truce and agreed not to shoot him when he left.

Illya now moved quickly. If they could get a signal, they would call for a helicopter which would be full of men whose enmity would _not_ be in abeyance. Illya was in no less danger than before, but at least he knew where the danger was and that he had time on his side for a while.

<><> 

Waverly picked up the tape issuing from his data machine and reading it, his eyebrows rose. “Thrush hostilities suspended two weeks until after the funeral. Reciprocal suspension requested.”

What funeral?

Summoned to Waverly’s domain, Napoleon Solo now entered and Waverly showed him the message. They looked at each other, baffled.

“I’m wondering if this has something to do with Mr Kuryakin.”

Suddenly breathless, Napoleon said, “Where is Illya? Has something happened to him?”

“No, he’s due back any time. Thrush would have boasted if they had killed him. But why would they suspend hostilities? It’s unheard of.”

“Except at Christmas, sometimes.”

“Hmph. Sheer self-interest usually.”

<><> 

On his arrival, Illya ran the length of the corridor to answer Waverly’s summons and arrived out of breath to find his Chief rereading his report.

Waverly handed him the tape message and said, “So this is your doing?”

Illya flushed a little and said, “Well, sir… it’s like this…”

<> 

Thankful to be released without a reprimand, Kuryakin left.

Waverly sent an affirmative reply to Thrush, smiled wryly and found himself remembering the Christmas truce during the Great War. And now he came to think of it, he also remembered a machine gunner in his own company, skilfully cutting the overlong hair of a German soldier. Hmph. Now _that_ would have been a useful outcome to repeat.

<><><><> 


End file.
